


Reunited

by neriasuranas



Series: The Neria Surana Chronicles [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-13 04:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7961929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neriasuranas/pseuds/neriasuranas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neria Surana was not supposed to be alive. Angry and hurt at the events that left her that way, she disappears into Ferelden after the Blight to clean up the lingering darkspawn and silently torture herself over her own mistakes.</p><p>Alistair Theirin is gone. Lost to the Fade with only a bundle of unsent letters and a decade worth of regrets left behind. So when he comes flying back out of the Fade just a month after he stayed behind, the only thing he has left to do is make sure those letters get delivered.</p><p>But first that means returning to Skyhold, and then it means getting her location out of Leliana.</p><p>If he even makes it that far.</p><p>[Slight canon divergence. First chapter is short; the others will be much longer.]<br/>[27/10/16; went back through and made some small edits, mostly grammar things I had missed the first time. also added more to chapter 3.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After the Abyss

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Dragon Age story, but I've had the idea floating around in my head for a while, so I hope it comes out alright. I'm sorry this chapter is so short; the next one is more than long enough to make up for it. The story itself is probably going to be only a few chapters long, I'm currently thinking no more than four at the most, but it'll depend.
> 
> Either way, thanks for reading! I'll have the second chapter up next Sunday, to give myself some time to finish writing the others so I don't end up letting this sit for a few months...
> 
> Enjoy!

It made sense, Alistair decided, that this would be how he’d end. Trapped behind in the Fade facing down an enemy that could probably kill him with a single blow. And if, by Andraste’s graces, he somehow managed to survive, what good would it do? He was still stuck. He had no anchor, no means of ripping the Veil open to climb back out. No, this was his final battle, it was just coming ten years later than it should have.

“Inquisitor,” he said, grabbing her arm before she ran off. The young girl paused, her brown eyes steeled. “Do me a favor. When you’ve returned to Skyhold, retrieve my bag and give to Sister Leliana the bundle of envelopes. She’ll understand.”

The Inquisitor nodded without hesitation, opening her mouth as if to say something more, but Alistair didn’t wait to hear it. He had heard all that he needed to with her soft whisper of his name, his final command. Alistair turned back towards the demon, ignoring the slight shiver that went down his back. He remembered, of all things, his first trip into the Fade, seeing Goldanna and her children just the way he had always imagined them. He would have been content to stay there, lost in the pretend bliss forever, but _she_ came, just as she always had, to pull him back. _I need you to stay with me, Alistair!_

He had been lucky enough to dodge the death he deserved once before, Morrigan’s child was proof of that. Though luck hadn’t had much to do with his decision then. “For the Wardens!” he yelled, knuckles white against Duncan’s weathered shield as he charged. For one Warden, he wanted to say. For Neria.

As he brought his sword down against the demon, Alistair let his mind wander back to ten years previous. His pride had got the better of him. He had let her go, had pushed her away just like he had Arl Eamon another decade prior.

And now it would come full circle. He allowed himself to look where the others had run, not surprised to see that the five of them had made it out safely, and the tear in the veil was already mending itself. It would be over soon. Perhaps it already was. Perhaps is had been over from the moment he set his world to crash down around himself like the stupid man he always knew he was.

He just hoped Leliana didn’t hate him so much that she wouldn’t find a way to send his last words to Neria.

~

The days following the Herald’s return to Skyhold were more solemn than Leliana thought possible. They had lost many good men and women, and so many more were injured. For what wasn’t the first time, the bard found herself wishing for Wynne’s help. If anyone would be able to help their wounded, it would certainly have been her. But she was gone, long gone now. Just like everything from her time during the Blight.

Even if things long gone seemed to find a way onto her desk one way or another.

About one day after they returned, Evelyn had shyly approached her with what looked like a thick stack of letters, clutched tightly to her chest. “Alistair,” she said, voice faltering. Leliana did not interrupt, grateful for the moment so she might reign in her own despair. They had not always gotten along, and she had certainly been furious with him for what he had done to Neria, but he was a good man. A friend. “Before we…he told me where to find this, in his belongings, and asked me to give them to you. He said you would understand.”

Gently, she placed them on the desk, as if worried they might poof into dust if she wasn’t careful enough. Leliana picked them up next, examining them. Envelopes, too many to count, stacked mildly haphazardly and held together by a narrow cord of leather. They were blank, so the spymaster carefully undid the knot in the leather – noting how worn it was around those parts and wondering how often Alistair had untied and retied it back in place – to gently pull a single envelope from the rest.

They were unsealed or, rather, none of them looked like they had been sealed to begin with. Curiously, Leliana reached in and pulled out a slim piece of paper with messy scrawl on it. “‘My dear Warden,’” she read aloud, stopping short.

Letters to Neria.

Tears sprang in her eyes at the realization of what this meant, of what this could have meant days ago. With a single sniffle, Leliana pushed the letter back into the envelope and turned back towards Evelyn. The Inquisitor, who was just as innocent looking as her own Neria had been upon their meeting in Lothering, was watching her carefully, and checking her for any signs of grief. “I am alright, Inquisitor,” Leliana told her, keeping one hand against the stack to keep them from spilling everywhere. “Thank you for bringing these to me so quickly.”

Evelyn nodded, and turned to go. Something stopped her, and she turned back slightly. “I told Morrigan about his sacrifice,” she said softly. “She said that the world was better without such a cheese-loving moron, but I… I think she was sad to hear it nonetheless.”

Leliana nodded, not trusting herself to speak any further of the matter. The Inquisitor didn’t say anything further, simply turned her back to climb back down the staircase where she might perhaps seek out the Commander. For a long while, the spymaster simply stood in place, looking down at the letters. She wondered how often he had written to her, how many years he struggled with whether or not to seek her out or to leave her alone.

_“I don’t know what to do Leliana. It’s been two years and I still catch myself daydreaming about our time together, all the little moments we shared along the way. That’s silly of me, though, isn’t it? To still pine for a man that stopped loving me long ago. I wish I could change how I felt, truly, but I fear my heart might always belong to him and that thought frightens me unlike any other.”_

The letter was still around, somewhere. Buried within her own private quarters no doubt, where she kept all the other letters from friends. Leliana looked down once more at the bundle and realized that Neria would have no way of knowing about his sacrifice. The thought hurt her as much as every other thought centered around their failed love, and it was enough to boost the former bard into action. She pulled out a spare piece of parchment and hastily wrote down,

_“My dear Neria, I hope you are close to Skyhold. There is much I wish to discuss with you once you arrive. I think seeing the Hero of Ferelden alive and before them will help the morale of my friends, too. We’ve taken loses, and seeing a legend that rivals our Inquisitor will do them good, I hope.” ___

The redhead nodded to herself after double checking everything, and rolled it into a slim scroll. With a sharp whistle, her fastest crow came fluttering down to land on her outstretched arm. “You know where to go. Find Neria for me,” she instructed. “Bring her to me.”

With a final squawk, the crow was off, heading west out of the rooftop. Leliana stared at the hole where it had disappeared into for a few moments before reaching down to retie the leather strap.


	2. Neria Surana

Neria never did figure out how exactly Leliana had found her, the spymaster simply had. She had woken up one morning to find a large raven perched across the dead fire from her that squawked once before taking off, small scroll of paper falling off in the process. Her first letter had been short, simply alerting Neria to the fact that she had been found and that more letters would follow regardless of whether she answered.

She knew that her friends wanted answers, and she didn’t blame them. After defeating the archdemon, Neria had disappeared. Rumors about her had circulated, most of them seemed to think that she had died not long after. A few said that she had gone insane from defeating the archdemon and living – something that was not supposed to have happened. A good number placed her beside the growing Grey Wardens as they rebuilt in Ferelden, fighting off the darkspawn that still remained. That one, at least, was partially true, as she suspected it was of most surviving Grey Wardens. She hunted down the remaining darkspawn, and even occasionally found herself directing eager recruits to where they were now convening. Every time she sent them on their way, Neria found herself running her fingers over the pendant around her neck, the one that she had not removed since Alistair gave it to her. How many of them would make it?

It wouldn’t have been difficult to find the others, with her newfound influence. Neria had heard rumors about each of them in some regard, and she knew that they, at least in part, were looking for her as well. Once or twice, she happened a few other Wardens that asked her to join them, though she politely told them she wasn’t interested anymore. She traveled, once, to Vigil's Keep to accept the position of Ferelden's Commander of the Grey, stayed as long as it took to handle the Architect and then promptly disappeared. She needed some time alone.

After everything that happened, Neria felt she deserved at least that much, deserved a break from people and constantly being sent on errands and all the other now-meaningless shite that had occupied her time before.

Being around her friends, even Leliana, was just too much of a reminder of what she had lost. Of what she should have lost and _didn’t_ for no reason other than spite. Neria ran a hand through her hair, trying to banish these thoughts. The last ten years by herself had made her exceptionally good at keeping her thoughts away from the Blight, but it was difficult, now, with the low echoes of a song playing in the back of her head. She couldn’t get it out, couldn’t make the Calling leave her thoughts no matter how many times she told herself it wasn’t real, _couldn’t_ be real. It was too early, she just needed a little more time…

For what wasn’t the first time, the elf glanced down at the message in front of her. _“Do not listen to the Calling, Neria. Do not go to Adamant, either. It isn’t real. I will explain more as soon as I receive confirmation that you have not already wandered your way back to the Deep Roads.”_ She had assumed as much, but the song terrified her in a way she hadn’t expected, so she dropped everything and began heading back towards where she knew Warden-Commander Clarel to be and ask what was happening. Leliana’s message found her just as she reentered Orlais, stopped her in her tracks.

_“You have the most impeccable timing, my friend. Tell me more about this false Calling.”_

It was short, probably shorter than Leliana might have wanted, but it was enough. Neria pushed some of her long hair back behind her ear, fingers running against the squared end where an almost lethal slash had taken off the tip of her pointed ear. She had heard much about this Inquisition that her friend was now working with, both from Leliana herself and rumors that came with her travel. They had grown in power and numbers at an alarming rate, and while Neria trusted her friend not to side with any malicious forces, she couldn’t help the worry that followed every new bit of information. The Inquisitor, a human girl that was perhaps mid-twenties was leading them, mysterious anchor on her hand. Shortly after the events of the Conclave, when Leliana had written to her detailing the events, she had extended the invitation to become Inquisitor to her, but Neria had been quick to shoot it down.

Had she not done enough for Ferelden already? Had she not lost enough yet?

Neria paused, clenching her eyes shut and pinching the bridge of her nose to stop the memories that seemed to be resonating within her. One thought, one question that she could never seem to banish completely pushed its way to the forefront of her mind, demanding that she at least acknowledge it.

_Was he alright?_

Frustrated now, Neria rolled her message into a tight scroll and practically threw it at the raven that was waiting for her. It made a noise of annoyance, plucking it from her fingers and took off, leaving her alone once more. Traveling had been better when Barkspawn – a name that _still_ made her cringe and one that she had tried desperately to change many times – had still been alive. He had been her faithful companion every step of the way, but he had hardly been a puppy when she found him, and he passed only a year ago. Burying him had been the second hardest thing she had ever done.

To try and soothe her thoughts, the elf stood and began to pace around her small camp. She strongly believed in packing lightly, nothing at all like the large field they needed during the Blight. Even if Morrigan had deemed herself worthy to camp near the others, the space needed to keep her and Wynne apart was more than her current camp. The elf smiled almost wistfully, half wishing she could hear their screaming matches now. But Wynne was gone, lost as she knew she would be not long after the Blight and Morrigan…

Well, last she was aware, Morrigan was raising a child.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. Still, after a decade of coming to terms with what had happened. She was no longer angry at the Witch, nor at the father of the aforementioned child, but the memory of that betrayal never seemed to fail in upsetting her.

Neria would pretend until the day she died that it had nothing to do with Alistair’s role in it.

She made a noise of annoyance, throwing her hands up in the air as if that would make the bad things go away. It had been ten years. Ten long and grueling years as she searched desperately for a cure. And not a day of that had passed where she did not feel the echoes of her shattered heart, no matter how much she forced herself not to think directly about it. Once a stabbing pain that seemed to permeate throughout her entire being was now nothing more than a hollow ache. Always there, just enough to remind her that it wouldn’t go away, but easy enough to ignore in battle. She had come to peace with what happened many years ago, acknowledged her own part and forgave him for his, but it seemed like her heart had held true to a sentiment she once sent Leliana.

_“I fear my heart might always belong to him.”_

Though she knew, oh Maker how she knew, that she had no right to feel that way. Even if there wasn’t ten years in between the last time she had even seen him. Had it not been her to walk away? She still remembered the look on his face, the way his brown eyes seemed to snap in front of her as she spoke the words that she had so carefully rehearsed the night before.

_“You’re to be King soon. Even with Anora expected to be gone, to be found having a relationship with an elf… Not just an elf, but a mage! The rumors alone will kill you before you’ve even accepted the crown.”_

Neria stopped pacing, closing her eyes again. Oh, what a fool she had been. She took their love, took everything he had ever said to her and threw it at his feet like it had meant nothing to her. She didn’t wait to hear his response, or maybe she couldn’t. It had taken her every ounce of strength and resolve not to break down in front of him and those that she pretended not to see listening in. If he had called out to her, she hadn’t heard it. She wasn’t sure, anymore, whether he had or not. She knew that she had avoided him after that, did whatever she could to keep distance between them. Neria thought it might help him, if she was not so close anymore, but he had been determined to get as close as possible at all times. Morrigan had put herself between after that, allowed him no time to be truly alone with her.

Despite everything, Neria was certain that she would always be grateful for the Witch of the Wilds’ intervention during those few days.

She took a deep breath, and reminded herself once again that she was pathetic to still be as _not over_ this as she was. It had been ten years, ten years apart in comparison to what little time they had had together. Why, she would ask herself late at night as the false Calling threatened to drive her insane, does it still hurt so much?

She knew the answer. Of course she did.

Not that she’d admit to it. Not out loud and certainly not in writing, no matter how many times Leliana alluded to the question.

-

The next message she received from Leliana arrived not even two weeks later. Her raven must be better than she thought, or Leliana was closer than she imagined. A long detail of what was going on, peppered with names that meant little to her but must be important to their cause. An ancient Tevinter Magister named Corypheus was somehow tricking the Wardens into hearing the Calling, sending them to rush to their deaths or turn to blood magic to keep themselves alive.

Anger, hot and white filled her at the news. Blood magic had always been a touchy subject for her, but to hear what this Magister was doing to the other Wardens… To _Alistair_ , no doubt… was more than she had expected. More than she was willing to accept. The end of Leliana’s letter explained that Varric, a name she recognized from books people seemed to enjoy, had summoned the Champion of Kirkwall to help hem fight this mess, and he in turn had found a Warden contact that was privy to what was happening. It was the only name missing, and Neria wasn’t naïve enough to pretend that Leliana had forgotten it on purpose. The Champion of Kirkwall had found Alistair, had summoned him back into the battle. The thought made her head spin, and she tried not to think about it too heavily.

Regardless, whatever their plan, they were heading to Fort Adamant to storm the stronghold and bring down Clarel and save the Wardens before they all raced down to the Deep Roads to kill themselves.

All very much in line with what they had accomplished together, complete with their own miracle working leader. Leliana wrote of Evelyn with a reverence that Neria hadn’t seen in a great while, and it made her happy. The years after the Blight had made her friend hard, and she was glad to see that someone else was helping to ease her back to the kindhearted woman she met in Lothering.

This time, her reply was longer.

_“I am glad to hear you and your Inquisition are in such capable hands, Leliana. I have left the far West, and I would like to see you before you and your Inquisitor find a way to blow themselves up again (yes, I know all about what happened at Haven, how dare you not tell me all the details). I leave for Skyhold in the morning, perhaps I will arrive before you return? Best of luck, my dear.”_

True to her word, Neria was packed and heading towards the Frostback Mountains at dawn the next morning. She remembered where Haven was, if only barely, and she imagined that this Skyhold could not be very far considering they had relocated there almost immediately after Haven was lost. Neria estimated that it will take her about a week and a half to arrive, if she chooses to ride swiftly. Longer if she took her time and gave Alistair time to leave and be back on his way before she arrives.

She has not said his name in a decade. She had done very well with avoiding any chance encounters with him, too. The last thing she needed was to run into him again with the Calling ringing in their ears.

-

She arrived in Skyhold just after nightfall two weeks later, hugging her cloak around her thin shoulders tightly. The castle itself did not seem to be covered in snow, but the mountains around them were, giving an illusion to the weather that Neria was immediately certain she’d never grow accustomed to. The guards that stopped her at the bridge did not seem to recognize her, and Neria could hardly blame them. The image that managed to circulate throughout Ferelden was one of a blonde elf with short hair pulled into a tight pony-tail wearing mage robes. She had since grown her hair out, wore it now in a single braid that cascaded down her armored back.

It wasn’t practical not to wear armor when she was alone in her travels.

“Name and business,” the guard said with a yawn. He must have been on duty most of the day, would probably be retiring not long from now. Neria cleared her throat; he might not recognize her appearance, but he’d know her name.

“Please inform Sister Leliana that the Hero has arrived,” she said, voice hoarse from lack of use. The guards exchanged a look, debated for a second whether or not to press for her name. The one that had spoken shrugged and told the other to do as she wanted, he’d watch her. They were tired, messy. Neria smiled a little, turning away so that they wouldn’t see. If their Commander could see them now, he’d be sorely disappointed.

Just moments later, she looked up to see Leliana and two other figures come rushing out of the entrance. Neria stared for a second, watching the two of them carefully descend the steps before realizing who the second person was. “Morrigan?” she asked, sliding off her steed in shock. The Witch looked as calm as ever, though there was no mistaking the surprise that painted her face. The third person was entirely unfamiliar to her, though if Neria had to guess, she would assume that she is Josephine, the Antivan ambassador. Her eyes trailed back to Leliana, happiness spreading across her face despite her apparent efforts to stop it, and then to Morrigan. A stab of guilt hit her as she realized that she never told Morrigan why she had so abruptly disappeared, had never even made mention of what sat between them now.

Distantly, Neria wondered where her child was. Where Alistair’s child was.

Leliana reached her first, slim face broken into a wider smile than Neria thought she was capable of. “My dear Neria!” she cried, throwing her arms around her neck. The elf stumbled back a bit to catch her before returning the hug, warmth replacing guilt. She hadn’t realized just how drastically she had missed her friend. “Oh, it is so good to see you!”

“Well, well, the Hero of Ferelden herself,” Morrigan said next, keeping her distance. Her voice was every bit as teasing and snide as it had been years ago, but Neria could hear the slight tone of happiness buried beneath it. The guards next to them snapped their heads towards her, eyes going wide. One of them immediately turned and took off, disappearing behind the tall walls. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

As Leliana finally let go, Neria allowed herself to regard them both more closely. Morrigan looked almost exactly the same, though her hair was a bit longer. There was a sort of gentleness to her that hadn’t been there previously, something most likely brought upon by raising her child alone. Leliana, on the contrary, looked harder than she remembered, all sharp edges and careful eyes. Both of them had done well for themselves, and Neria was pleased. “Leliana asked that I come,” she admitted, following them off the bridge and into the stronghold proper. “She said she had something to discuss with me.”

Any ounce of happiness flickered off their faces, and the two of them shared a look that Neria couldn’t quite place. Instinctively, her eyes narrowed in response, blue eyes glancing between the two of them. They had _never_ gotten along, and here they were exchanging secret, knowing glances?

Just what had happened?

Neria cleared her throat. “Is there perchance a place we could speak privately?” she asked, gesturing around them. Skyhold was still awake, and people were coming out to find them now, eyes gawking at this new stranger that had both Leliana and Morrigan’s attention. It made Neria nervous, crowds always had. She hated being watched, hated feeling like a bird caged and on display to sing only at her master’s request. It reminded her too heavily of the Circle, too strongly of the stern gaze of the Templar’s all around her…

Before either of them could attempt to suggest a place, the young Antivan woman swooped down upon them, a flurry of yellow and blue skirts. “I simply cannot apologize enough!” she said, batting away Leliana and Morrigan. “No one,” she stopped talking to shoot a wicked glare at the other two, neither of whom seemed particularly afraid, “informed me that you would be visiting, otherwise I would have stationed a welcoming party to greet you properly!”

“It’s…fine,” Neria managed, unable to meet her gaze. Her eyes kept flickering around the crowd that was gathering, ears picking up their soft exclamations of, ‘the Hero of Ferelden!’, or, ‘I can’t believe she’s really here!’. If either of her friends noticed her discomfort, they did not respond.

“I am Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador to the Inquisition,” she introduced, curtsying slightly. “And of course, we are all well aware of who you are.” Neria clenched her jaw, forcing herself to look away from the growing crowd around them. “But I am sure you must be exhausted,” she continued, glancing down at the papers in her hand. She had the air of a woman that was always prepared, no matter what the circumstances, and despite her growing discomfort, Neria couldn’t help but be impressed. “There is a private room that you may use for however long you wish, in the tower to the west of Skyhold,” she concluded with a nod. “I apologize that Inquisitor Trevelyan cannot be here to greet you. She is currently on route to Skyhold from Crestwood, you understand. Please, make use of everything Skyhold has to offer.”

Neria nodded, swallowing the lump that was growing in her throat. Too many people. “Yes, thank you,” she said, looking helplessly at Morrigan. The Witch caught her gaze and loudly offered to escort her back to her quarters.

At once, the crowd began to disperse, leaving Neria wondering just what her old friend’s role was within the Inquisition. She inquired as much as they walked, and Morrigan only laughed. “I am not part of the Inquisition, my dear. I am liaison to Empress Celene.”

This was too much to take in. So much was different than she imagined, and too many questions bubbled around in her mind to make sense of all the changes. The tower where her room was located, thankfully, was empty, and Neria took the opportunity to grab the Witch’s arm, pulling them both to a stop. Morrigan looked back at her with surprise, and she immediately released her. “I…I have to ask,” she said, words coming too fast to stop them. “Leliana, she mentioned a… a Warden ally, working with the Inquisition and the Champion to stop whatever was causing the false Calling.” Neria tried to ignore the expression that crossed Morrigan’s face, forced herself to keep going now that she had started. “It was… the ally, was it him?”

Even now, his name would not pass her lips.

Morrigan looked away, pretended to cough into her hand. “I believe that is a question for Leliana,” she said after a long pause. Her eyes were guarded when she looked back, and as soon as Neria tried to press for more information, the Witch simply shook her head. “I am only a liaison, Neria. I know not everything that happens around this place. ‘Tis not my place to spread such idle gossip, even if I did.”

After a second of searching her face for answers, the elf finally relented. Morrigan would give away nothing yet, and to push her would only anger her. Instead, she took the conversation in a different route, one that was perhaps not any easier. “How is your…child?”

“Kieran, a son.” There was a softness to her voice that Neria was certain she was imagining, but she did not interrupt to ask. “He is as wonderful a son as any mother could hope for. And that is all I wish to speak about him. You need to rest, I know how tirelessly you push yourself.”

Morrigan was gone before she could respond, her final ‘we shall speak again soon,’ lingering in the stone walls around them. With an annoyed huff, Neria climbed the stairs up to her tower alone, knowing already that she would not be resting so soon. Leliana would be visiting shortly, after Josephine had thoroughly scolded her about failing to tell anyone that the Hero of Ferelden would be visiting, that she was certain of. There was much to discuss however, and her friend would not waste any time getting around to it.

The room that Josephine had directed her to was small, but cozy. She guessed that it had been a guest room for someone else recently, judging by how clean and already organized it was. The idea that this had perhaps been Alistair’s room clutched at her heart, and she allowed herself a few moments of imagining him pacing around, trying to drown out the Calling just as she had done a hundred times. She smiled a little at the thought of both of them, separated by Thedas, still mimicking each other’s habits.

It took her about one hour before Leliana finally arrived, hood still up even as she rapped on the doorframe. “I hope I have not woken you,” she said quietly, though Neria was pretty certain that she knew she had not been sleeping. The former lay sister cleared her throat and gestured to the chair while waiting patiently for Neria to nod her into it. “I suspect you have questions,” she began, folding her fingers in front of her face. “I will answer to the best of my abilities. What would you like to wish first?”

“Where is he?”

The words flew out too quickly, and Neria immediately felt hot blush creep into her cheeks. _Damn it_. Leliana did not so much as flinch, regarding her friend with the same distant gray eyes she now donned. For a second, it looked almost as if she might ask to whom she was referring to, but appeared to have thought better of it, for her next statement came out careful and measured. “You were right to guess that he was our Warden ally,” she began, eyes never leaving hers. “He joined us here for a short while before we marched to Fort Adamant, but there was a…complication.”

Neria let herself fall into the chair opposite her, exhaling slowly. “What sort of complication?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. Her mind, already so plagued with questions and memories and the echoes of the Calling as it slowly faded away, kept replaying the same things she had been reminding herself the last ten years.

_You do not deserve to miss him. You do not have the right to ask about him. You left him. You lost your right to care about him the moment you shattered his heart._

Leliana took a deep breath and then carefully unfolded her fingers and slid them across the table, reaching for Neria’s. The elf neither fought nor responded to the touch, but Leliana did not release her. “The Inquisitor, three of her companions, Hawke, and Alistair,” Neria tried to pretend the flinch that followed his name had not happened, did not send an ache that rushed down to her fingertips, and Leliana paused only briefly before continuing, “were brought into the Fade as a way to save themselves. The Inquisitor, she can open and close rifts in the Veil, and did so in order to stop the six of them from falling to their deaths.” 

Already, Neria did not like where this was going.

“There, they faced against a Nightmare demon, the cause for the false Calling that you have been hearing,” she continued, squeezing her friend’s hands. “And while they were mostly successful, they were forced to leave one person behind to distract the demon while the rest made an escape.”

All the air left Neria’s body as the steady stream of thoughts came to an abrupt end. Leliana would have told her in writing if it was Hawke, or one of the Inquisitor’s companions. There were only two options here, and if the bard’s expression was anything to judge…

“Alistair remained behind. He is… he is gone, my dear.”

The elf stared down at the table, clenching and unclenching her jaw in a desperate attempt to maintain her composure. Tears were already trickling down her cheeks, spilling down onto Leliana’s hands as they remained over her own. He was gone. Truly, sincerely gone. All the pain that she had wrought, all the anger and heartbreak and years of scorn and coming to terms with everything, Neria had held onto one simple sentiment. At least he was _alive_. He could breathe, he could find love elsewhere, could live the life that he had always dreamed about.

And all of that had been taken away from him.

Neria opened her mouth to ask something, anything, but all that came out was a low groan, and Leliana was at her side in an instant. She said nothing, merely held her friend as she finally let the truth wash over her.

_Alistair was not coming back this time._

The ache that had been so carefully buried exploded within her, and Neria felt as if the Taint itself was once more spreading throughout her blood, poisoning her all over again. 

She did not know, nor care, how long the two of them stayed like that, mourning the loss of a man she had no business mourning, but Neria would forever be grateful that Leliana had been there. No one else could possibly hope to understand what she was feeling, what terrible thoughts were now screaming into her ears, telling her over and over again that it was _her_ fault, she had ruined everything with a few rehearsed lines and one bad decision. She let herself cry, sob really, until there were no more tears to shed and all that came out were sharp and frantic breaths in some poor attempt to contain herself. When finally all the sorrow she had to give was gone, Neria allowed herself to rise only to numbly collapse onto the bed, covering her raw eyes with throbbing hands.

Leliana would accept no apology. “Neria, my dear, you rest here a while,” she instructed, reaching down to help pull her muddy boots off. Neria forced herself to sit up, refused to allow her friend to undress her when she was more than capable of doing it herself. The armor fell away, clanging with every piece that hit the cold ground in ways that she would normally never have allowed, until she was dressed in nothing but a loose tunic and pants. She heard her friend tsk at the lack of fashion choice, but she thankfully did not comment. “Take as long as you need. I will have Cullen post a guard outside your door to ensure no one disturbs you. Whenever you wish, send him for me and I will be here as quickly as I can.”

Too exhausted to do anything else, Neria only nodded, sitting back down on the bed again. Leliana watched her for a moment longer before bidding her goodbye, softly closing the door in place behind her.

Once alone, the elf curled up on her side, clutching her knees against her chest tightly. A few more tears trickled down her face, running into her nose and pooling between her cheek and the bed. Neria did nothing to stop them.

All that time spent ensuring that what she felt, what she could not stop herself from feeling all these years, was not real, and now he was gone. She had wasted the decade being angry and hurt and pretending, and now she would never get to hear his laugh again, see the way his eyes crinkled up a little whenever he smiled. She had made peace with this years ago, accepted her loses and prepared for a future without him in it, but this was different. Then, he had been _alive_. Then, he was there to brighten someone else’s days or gush about his favorite type of cheese to whoever’d listen.

And now he was gone, and Neria would never get to say that she was sorry. She’d never be able to tell him how deeply she regretted leaving him, or how she understood why he retaliated by sleeping with Morrigan just days later. No matter what she had told herself, or what she had insisted to Leliana, Neria had held onto the hope that he might find her again one day, or they might once stumble into each other’s lives. She could apologize. They could end on something more than what had last been said. And now that hope was gone, just like everything else.

He was lost in the Fade forever and she could not even tell him that she loved him, still, after all this time.

-

Neria allowed herself to mourn for three days before finally gathering the courage to pick herself up. Leliana had sent her meals, none of which she ate, and fresh bath water was sent the end of each day. On the morning of the fourth day, she finally brushed the tangles out of her hair and washed the dirt of the road off, changing into a fresh set of clothing that Leliana had prepared for her. True to her word, a guard had been posted outside of the tower where her room was, and he looked genuinely surprised to see her when she ventured outside.

“My Lady!” he said, straightening up. Neria clenched her jaw. “What might I do for you?”

“Nothing,” she said, voice rough from her solitude. “You are dismissed.” The guard stared at her for a second before he finally nodded, bowing deeply once. She waited until he had taken off, rushing down the stairs to most likely inform either the spymaster or the commander – or most likely the entire keep – that the Hero of Ferelden had left her room.

From where she was located, Neria could see everything. The large castle where she anticipated the Inquisitor ruled from, the gardens tucked away in the courtyard. They even had a proper stable, where she assumed someone had taken her horse. Guilt stabbed her, and she quietly traced the path she would need to take to check on him.

While she walked, everyone seemed to stare at her. They whispered behind their hands, reminding whoever was closest to them of her service to Ferelden. Neria ignored them the best she could, and none of them attempted to speak to her. Master Dennet was the first, greeting her loudly outside the stable. “Good to see you’re still alive!” he laughed, clapping her on the back. Neria nodded at him, forced a small smile to her face. “How’s my horse treating you?”

“He’s been an excellent companion,” Neria told him honestly. She had tried to walk, like she had during the Blight, but it lost her too many leads. Curiously, her eyes scanned the stables, noticing all the different breeds they had milling around. “That’s a lot of good horses crammed on top of a mountain.”

Master Dennet sighed, looking at them longingly. “That it is,” he said. “It was easier at Haven, there were fields they could roam.”

They spoke for a moment longer before he directed her to where her own horse was tacked. He had been well taken care of, right next to the empty stall where the Inquisitor’s own was. “You must be Warden-Commander Neria,” a deep voice boomed from her right. Neria turned almost lazily, surprised to see a man dressed in Warden gear. Her eyes narrowed a bit. He looked every bit the part, but he was missing the Taint. “An honor to meet you, Commander. My name is Gordon Blackwall.”

 _No it is not._ Neria cleared her throat, nodded to Dennet before following the fake Warden into the stable. She opened her mouth to call him out, to ask who he really was, but something in his eyes stopped her. “You’re the one that’s been sending all the Warden recruits to Vigil’s Keep?” she said instead, tilting her chin up. He regarded her as carefully as she was watching him before finally nodding. “Good. My mentor, Duncan, he spoke highly of you.”

“Funny. The other Warden said the same thing.”

He said it with a chuckle, but Neria looked away, letting some loose strands fall into her face. Blackwall seemed to sense her distress, placed a hand on her shoulder. “He was a good man,” he said softly. “We were all sorry.”

Neria forced herself to nod. _Damn it!_ With a deep breath, she finally looked back up, eyes steeled. “He was,” she said, turning to leave. For a second, she hesitated. Had Blackwall been one of those sucked into the Fade as well? Part of her wanted to ask, _needed_ to, but she stopped herself. It hurt too much already, and she wasn’t quite sure she could handle anything more. “The Wardens won’t be the same without him.”

He did not say anything as she left, hands clenched into fists and trembling just slightly. Neria did not say anything to Dennet as she passed by, eyes trained firmly on the ground before her feet. She didn’t pay attention to where she ended up, not until the cold breeze whipped her braid in front of her face. The elf looked up, surprised to find herself standing atop Skyhold’s great wall, overlooking the main entrance. Guards were patrolling, watching her with a mix of reverence and admiration that made her sick. Scowling, she turned to march on back to her room – wherever that was – before realizing that she had turned almost directly into a door.

Not wanting to give these people anything further to discuss, Neria quickly reached out and prayed silently to the Maker or Andraste or whoever listened to silly things like this that the door was not locked. It was not, though the force with which she had been turning with sent her nearly crashing into the room, a fact that had her cheeks burning as she steadied herself.

“Miss…Surana?”

Her head snapped up as the door swung shut behind her, not expecting to find someone else in the room with her. Which was a foolish thing to think considering the room was fully furnished and clearly someone’s office. Behind the large desk stood a tall man with some sort of decorative pelt encompassing his shoulders. Neria blinked for a second as her mind registered who she was seeing. “Cullen?”

Leliana had told her that Cullen had become the Commander, so this was no shock. But it had been longer than ten years since she had last seen him, and her memories of him were quite far off from the truth now. He looked older, bags under his eyes and otherwise more exhausted than she remembered the young Templar to be. _But then, so must I._ Cullen cleared his throat and placed whatever report he was holding on the desk. “Not that I am particularly unhappy to see you,” he said, Ferelden accent as strong as ever, “but might I ask why you’ve come crashing into my office?”

“It was,” Neria started, cheeks burning again. “An accident.”

“An accident.” Cullen rose an eyebrow at her, but there was a teasing tone to his voice. “Should I perhaps be insulted that your visit is merely an accident?”

Neria laughed once. “Not at all,” she said. The Commander only smirked at her before any sort of ease left the room. He seemed to remember at the same time that she did the last time they encountered one another, and both mage and Templar shifted uncomfortably. Neria instinctively reached up to fiddle with her amulet again, fingers running over the cool glass. “You look well,” she finally offered. Better than the last time, at any rate. It looked like the man had hardly slept in weeks, perhaps hardly slept at all anymore. There was none of his youthful innocence, none of the nervous boy that had gone running down the hall away from her.

“I’m afraid I pale in comparison to you,” he returned softly. Blush appeared in his cheeks and he quickly backtracked. “That was – I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t apologize for being kind,” Neria said gently. “It’s good to see a familiar face around her. I’m sorry I didn’t do so sooner.”

Cullen cleared his throat. He glanced down at his desk for a second before taking a deep breath and meeting her gaze once again. “I never got the opportunity before you disappeared,” he started. Neria tensed, but he continued. “But I am truly grateful for what you did in the Circle. Not just for me, but for the First Enchanter and the rest of the mages. I – I was not in the right head when last we spoke, and I said many things that I wish I could take back.”

“Cullen,” Neria interrupted softly, braving a step forward. They had been friends, once. As close to friends as a mage and a Templar could be, at any rate. “You don’t need to apologize. I can’t imagine what the demon did to you, made you see. None of us that saw you there ever held that against you.”

The Commander looked at her and for the first time since arriving at Skyhold, Neria was glad that she came. He looked as if the weight of the entire world had been lifted off his shoulders, and she wondered faintly if he had been carrying that guilt with him all these years. “Thank you,” he told her earnestly, voice dripping with emotion. Neria offered him a smile for a second before looking back down at her feet. “I’m sorry about Alistair.”

His words had her freeze on spot, eyes widening fractionally. For a second, everything seemed to stop, save for the frantic thud of her heartbeat. Tears threatened to spill, but the Warden took a deep breath, forcing them away. “As am I,” she finally managed, voice almost too low to hear. She heard Cullen moving, and when she looked up again, he was in front of her, amber eyes more concerned than she deserved. Neria recalled with a shock that Alistair had been there when they stormed the Circle, had told her later that he remembered Cullen from his time becoming a Templar, though they hadn’t been friends. “I – sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Cullen said immediately, shaking his head. He stood there awkwardly before her, not touching her, but there was something oddly comforting about his presence regardless. After a few seconds, he reached up to rub at the back of his neck. “Miss Surana –”

“Please, call me Neria.”

“Neria, then. If you don’t mind me asking, what…happened between the two of you?” he asked. “I remember that, when you returned to the Circle, you had seemed so close. He was so protective of you, I had just assumed…” The Commander paused again, watching her carefully. “But I had heard later that you had both separated after the Blight ended.”

Neria took a deep breath, not meeting his gaze. How could she hope to explain this without giving away all their secrets? _He was meant to be king, I was an idiot, and then he impregnated one of my closest friends._ Somehow, she doubted that he would understand that. “We just…didn’t work out quite as much as we had hoped,” she finally replied, choosing her words carefully. She did not wish to lie, but there was no way to be completely honest. “It was foolish to think we had found love during such a dark time.”

Her words elicited a laugh out of him, and Neria watched as more blush crept into his cheeks. “Yes, I suppose that is rather foolish,” he muttered. She tilted her head to the side a little, eyebrow raised. He glanced over at her and coughed once, muttering something about returning to work and that was when she realized it.

“You’ve found love, haven’t you?”

Cullen sputtered, and Neria couldn’t help but laugh a little. He rambled for a bit, halfway denying it but then backtracking to correct himself. When he finally finished, he rubbed his eyes, groaning something about, “Was it that obvious?”

“Not until then,” she admitted with another laugh. “Leliana had hinted at something as well.”

“Of course she had.”

Neria laughed again, feeling something akin to warmth spread within her. “I’m happy for you,” she told him. “Truly. You deserve all the best, Cullen.”

He turned back to her to say something, perhaps thank her, but then another door to the office slowly opened. A young girl poked her head in, long red hair falling down in waves around her, brown eyes bright and happy. “Cullen, I –” the girl began, stopping short as her eyes fall on Neria. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had a guest.” Guilt crept into the elf, and she quickly introduced herself. The girl gasped and quickly entered the room fully, bowing to the once Hero. “I had no idea! I’m so sorry, I would have come to greet you sooner, but I’ve only just returned.”

“You’re quite alright,” Neria said quickly, shaking her head. For a second, her eyes trailed between the Commander and who she assumes must be the Inquisitor, noticing the way his eyes have softened and how his body angled towards her without realizing it.

_Ah._

“Cullen and I were friends during my time at the Circle,” she quickly explained, offering a smile. “I stopped by to say hello, but I really should get going. I’m sure Leliana or Morrigan have been wondering where I’ve run off to.” She didn’t give them a chance to respond, just quickly left from the door that she had accidentally come from, hoping that she hadn’t somehow upset the Inquisitor by being alone with her love. She laughed to herself a little before sorrow settled back into her chest. They reminded her so much of how she and Alistair had been, in the beginning. All quick glances and red cheeks, soft touches without a care for what others might think. Neria exhaled shakily, focusing on the cool air around her for a second before she began to move.

It was afternoon, and Skyhold was out in full, now. People still stared as she walked by, still whispered into her hands, but the Hero didn’t stop to ask questions or hear what they might be saying. “Ah, there you are!” a familiar voice called, grabbing her attention. Neria turned, sighed a little in relief. Leliana moved towards her, either oblivious or uncaring of the looks that followed her. A question played on her lips, and Neria slowly nodded.

She was not alright, not now. But maybe she would be one day.

“Good! I see you have already wandered around, but would you perhaps like a proper tour?” her friend offered, gesturing around them. “Skyhold can be quite daunting, no?”

Neria nodded gratefully, and Leliana began immediately. They walked together while the spymaster rattled off important points of interest and other random details that Neria could not pay attention to, try as hard as she might. Her mind was elsewhere, to the couple back in the office. _We had been foolish to think we found love in such a dark time._

As they walked through the many halls of Skyhold, Neria allowed herself to listen to the faint Calling, still playing at the back of her mind. It was distant, now, almost completely gone, thanks to Alistair. She couldn’t help but feel proud that he had been the one to put an end to it, but the hurt was still there. At bay for now, perhaps, but not quite fully gone. Perhaps it would never truly be gone.

If she had to choose, Neria thought wistfully, nodding along to whatever bit of information that Leliana was sharing, she would have taken the Calling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, chapter two!
> 
> I have the rest of it written, but I'm going to spend the next couple weeks editing them both and making sure they're good before posting them, so expect to see chapter three next Sunday!
> 
> thank you again for reading!
> 
> also, I should have included this last chapter, but if you'd be interested in following me on Tumblr, here's a link!  
> http://nellasaurusrex.tumblr.com/  
> I don't post much writing there, but feel free to enjoy all my DA / video game shitposting!


	3. Alistair Theirin

With too many years between them and little to distract himself from thinking about it, Alistair had come to the conclusion that the first time she had thought about leaving him had been when Arl Eamon suggested he be made King. When he first told her that he was Maric’s bastard, he had made it clear he had no illusion about one day becoming King, and she had even seemed relieved to hear it. They were two Grey Wardens against the world, just as they had been since the traitor Loghain let Ostagar fall. He had assumed that would continue after the archdemon was gone, had even deluded himself into thinking they could rebuild the Wardens together.

He should have known, he later thought. Life was never that easy, especially not for him.

\--

The night after they left Redcliffe to finally head to Orzammar, Alistair made the first of his mistakes. She had looked at him with something akin to fear in her eyes and softly asked what he thought their future might hold.

_“If we care about each other, that’s all that matters.”_

He should have seen the way her hands shook, noticed the quiver to her voice.

_“Is it? What about duty? What about honor? Those things are important too, aren’t they? I hope they don’t come between us, but I… I can’t say they won’t. I’m sorry._

He also didn’t see the way fractures began to set into her eyes, the ones that reached all the way down to her heart. So caught up in the Blight, and the mess that was Orzammar and worrying about what Arl Eamon wanted for and from him, and the inevitable Landsmeet, Alistair hadn’t noticed the changes that began to set in. They still shared a tent when they camped, ignored the snickering and rolled eyes from their companions each morning as they were the last to rise. He sparred with her and continued to teach her how to use the sword she insisted on sometimes in favor of a staff, and he fought by her side to keep her safe during battle. She still laughed at his jokes and listened without complaint to his late-night rants about Morrigan or his miserable time in the Chantry and anything else in the world.

It hadn’t necessarily been that she had acted different, because she hadn’t. But this was the girl that had been taken from her family as but a child, had grown up an elf surrounded by humans, a mage walled by the Circle. She had had a lifetime of learning to be subtle in her pain, of learning how to bury the things that hurt her and Alisair had often found himself wondering at how many things were lying behind her afternoon sky eyes. Neria had learned, after Jowan’s betrayal, how to give nothing away, and their journey had made her only more wary of the world. The hopeful, fresh mage that he had met in Ostagar was lost, buried beneath a mountain of responsibility that she had never wanted. She hid herself away from everyone, slowly, and he wasn’t sure she had been aware she’d done it until it was too late.

Alistair had thought that he was an exception, that she felt no need to hide any of herself from him.

No, the only thing that had changed was the way she looked at him, he realized later. There was a sadness in her smile and a crack in her eyes that he had overlooked. She was tired, plagued by nightmares the further they traveled, that was all. She worried if all their efforts would be enough. Neria had never wanted to lead much of anything, let alone the sole resistance against the Blight and Loghain and everything else wrong with Ferelden. He had thought that was all.

And then, after Orzammar and with the Blight creeping closer with every day, hours before they left Redcliffe to head to Denerim, she quietly asked to speak to him privately. She had been avoiding him all day. Looks were fleeting, words were sparse and often deflected, even as she and Eamon discussed how to go about placing him on the throne, long after the Queen had retired. Anora was not to be killed, but to be sent away from Denerim and to formally denounce any further claims. Nothing Alistair seemed to say reached either of them, and he soon gave up. Pouted in his room and waited for her to comfort him. Instead, she came bearing news he never wanted to hear.

To have her end things just days before they reached the Landsmeet was a slap in the face that Alistair had not been prepared for, could never have been prepared for.

_“You’re to be King soon. Even with Anora expected to be gone, to be found having a relationship with an elf… Not just an elf, but a mage! The rumors alone will kill you before you’ve even accepted the crown.”_

He had only stared as the words sunk in, as their meaning began to register. After all they had been through, after how many times he had _told_ her how little he wanted to be made King, and she chose to end it over something like _that_? By the time he had recovered enough to speak, she had already turned away.

“Neria, wait,” he said, throat dry and voice hardly louder than a whisper. He watched her head tilt, just slightly, and for one hopeful second, he thought that she might actually turn back, but instead, she kept walking, and all he could do was watch as she left him behind. He caught sight of both Morrigan and Leliana waiting for her outside as the door opened and then closed, but then they were gone too and Alistair was left truly alone for the first time since she approached him at Ostagar. He sank down on the bed, staring at the door she left from as if he might be able to will her back into the room.

Zevran and Wynne both visited, separately. Zevran asked if he would spend the night drinking with him and Oghren, claiming that nothing quite cured a broken heart the way alcohol did. Wynne came to check on him, see if there was something she could do. Alistair turned them both down with a calmness in his voice he wasn’t sure was his own. It felt like he was in shock, and it wasn’t until well into the night that the pain finally hit him; and when it did, it hit him _hard_.

Like meeting Marric and Cailan and realizing that his own father didn’t want him, or waking up in Flemeth’s hut and learning about what had happened at Ostagar – to _Duncan_ \- only it was so, so much worse. Hot tears pooled around his ears no matter how hard he pressed his fists against his eyes, every part of him feeling as if it were screaming nonstop in his ears. It was a pain far worse than most anything else that Alistair had ever felt, and he didn’t know how he would handle the ride to back to Denerim. How was he supposed to stand next to her and pretend like his heart hadn’t just shattered into pieces? What would she be like? Nervous, tense? Or could it even be possible that her whole spiel was just a front, an unwillingness to tell him that she no longer loved him?

The thought was too much to bear.

When he finally managed to sleep, it was light and restless, his dreams of her face, and by the time morning came, he felt no better than he had before. As much as he wanted to stay hidden away, all too soon there was a knock on the door and a quiet reminder that the Arl wanted to leave just before first light.

The ride was, in one way, considerably better than most of their other travels thus far, for Eamon had been generous enough to provide them with horses, a luxury they had been missing. Of course, that small comfort paled dramatically in comparison to the awkwardness that hung between everyone. It seemed that their little party had all heard the news, and everyone except for Sten and Oghren was acting just a bit different. Morrigan, who often trailed behind everyone else or shapeshifted into a bird and flew ahead to scout, had planted her own steed next to Neria’s. Leliana had done the same. Wynne rode next to Alistair, quietly telling him about all sorts of plants or other miscellaneous facts about the arcane that, any other day, he would have found fascinating. Barkspawn was dutifully behind Neria, and barked at anyone else that got too close. Zevran stayed in the middle, casually making small talk with them all in an obvious attempt to pretend that nothing had happened. Eamon rode in front of everyone, and while he was by no means oblivious to the shift in atmosphere among them, he had given Alistair a firm nod and a soft, “perhaps this is for the best,” before carrying on.

The longer it went on, the more Alistair wished that the Fade would rip apart above them and drop an entire army of demons upon them - _if only so that he might be spared from this torture._

It only grew worse the closer they got to Denerim. He felt like a child again, reluctantly riding alongside Eamon as the Arl brought him to the Chantry. He realized with a bitter taste that the situation wasn’t too different; only, this time, it was the love of his life that was leading him away from Redcliffe, and it was to a throne he didn’t want.

Life was cruel, sometimes.

Alistair tried a few times to speak with her whenever they made camp, but Morrigan would have none of it. Every time he got close, the Witch swooped down out of nowhere and ‘politely’ told him to sod off. Neria wouldn’t let herself be alone, hadn’t even so much as looked his way since they left Redcliffe. It hurt in a new way Alistair hadn’t even dreamed of, and hurt quickly turned to anger. He started to push himself next to her anyways, sat as close as he could to her around the campfire and made sure his arm brushed against hers during any strategy discussions. He had wanted a reaction out of her. Even something as small as a quick snap to make him stop, but instead, all he was met with were tensed shoulders and a stumble in her words that quickly corrected itself.

It was infuriating. He was not present when she went to rescue Anora, for suddenly he was too important to risk losing like that. He stayed behind with Eamon and sulked in a quiet corner of his quarters until they returned. And then Anora returned. Alone.

Anger melted away into a frigid worry. She had been captured, the Queen told them all. Taken, alone, to Fort Drakon. If it had been up to him, Alistair would have stormed the keep and cut down any man foolish enough to stand between them, but Anora quickly explained that Leliana and Morrigan were already on their way. “I – I didn’t ask what their plan was,” she admitted, eyes rimmed red. “They simply told Oghren to ensure I returned safely and left.”

So he waited. And waited, and waited. And while he waited, he made his mind up about two things.

The first, he was not going to be king. Damn all the nonsense Eamon had spewed into Neria’s ears, and damn the fact that she had listened. Was he not capable of speaking for himself? And second, as soon as the Landsmeet was over and the throne was rightfully returned to Anora, he was going to sweep up Neria and never again let her walk away from him.

By the time they could finally confront Loghain directly at the Landsmeet, Neria returned as safely as she could be, his rage had transformed itself into something else entirely. He was on a mission, now, and nothing would stop him, not even the traitor. When the nobles had spoken and Loghain continued to challenge them, he was quick to volunteer as the champion.

Neria looked to him for the first time in what felt like an eternity, her eyes considerate. Alistair swallowed past the lump that grew in his throat at the sight of her looking at him. “He left Cailan to die,” he said softly. “He’s the reason Duncan is – is gone. Please, Neria.”

After a second of silence, she finally nodded. “I will have Alistair fight as my champion,” she announced to the nobles. Many of them cheered, and Loghain only sneered.

They wasted no time preparing the duel, and for that, Alistair was grateful. If he been allowed time to consider that he was about to face one of Ferelden’s strongest hero’s, he might have been sick. But his anger at Loghain’s betrayal was powerful and his hurt was still strong, and he had the advantage of youth and Grey Warden senses, and the former war hero was brought down in seconds.

“Good… Seems there’s some of Marric in you after all.”

Alistair laughed, he couldn’t help it. “Forget Marric,” he spat, stepping forward. “This one’s for _Duncan._ ”

The nobles gasped as the Hero of River Dane was felled, blood splattered all over his weeping daughter. Anora collapsed to the ground next to him, mouth open without a sound. There was only the smallest pricks of regret as she threw herself over his armored body, cried for the father that she had lost. He let his eyes flicker back to Neria, tried to read her expression.

There was a satisfaction there, just a glint of it, and when she finally looked up to meet his gaze, there was also a sadness so profound that it almost had him staggering back. He remembered with a jolt that she had inevitably spared Jowan, had looked into the eyes of all that had tried to kill her and still found a way to end things peacefully. He felt his jaw clench, worried that he had disappointed her somehow in his ruthless beheading of Loghain, but then she nodded, just slightly. Some people didn’t deserve another chance.

Things were cleaned up quickly, servants called to remove the body and prepare it for burial, and more were called to clean up the mess of his blood before it stained. Anora was whisked away, and Alistair advised to clean his armor and sword off before they continued. When at last they finally convened, Alistair stepped forward. All eyes turned to him, and he took a deep breath. His eyes found Neria’s, watched as she stared back, eyebrows furrowed together a little. The question was there, and he intended to answer it.

“I don’t want to be king,” he said plainly as he turned away. He wondered, briefly, if the nobles around him saw him as Alistair the Grey Warden, Alistair the bastard, or the one that had slain the Hero of River Dane. Hopefully all three. “I never have, not even once.”

“Alistair,” Eamon interrupted, stepping forward. “You are what this country needs! Ferelden needs a Theirin to carry on the bloodline!”

Neria remained quiet, regarding him thoughtfully. If she knew what he was doing, she made no effort to stop him. Anora stood opposite them, eyes puffy and head held high. When she looked at him, Alistair had no illusions that all she saw was the man that had just killed her father. “I’m definitely not what this country needs,” he finally said, drawing attention back to him. “I wasn’t raised to be king, I was raised in the Chantry!” A sort of murmur of agreement went around the crowd, and he continued. “So I’d like to take myself out of the race, and pass on my full support to Queen Anora.” Eamon was yelling at him before the words had fully left his mouth, demanding to know if he had stopped to consider what he was saying.

His eyes found their way back to Neria, who still stood silent. She was frowning, just a little, but otherwise did not seem angry at the turn of events. “Yes, I have,” he finally said, only tearing his eyes away from her when he saw the slight pink to her cheeks. “I’m not fit to be king. Far as I’m concerned, Anora’d make a much better ruler than I ever could.”

One of the other nobles called for silence from Eamon, and then turned to Neria. “You speak for the Wardens, what say you?”

She looked between them all for a second before finally stepping forward. Alistair could see the stiffness of her legs, the slightest shake of her steps, and he wanted to go to her, to take her hands in his and soothe the claustrophobia that was building up. “I believe that Alistair is capable of speaking for himself,” she finally said. “If he does not wish to be king, then perhaps it would be best to honor that.”

“Will you, then, be willing to formally renounce any and all claims to the throne, Alistair?” Anora said quickly, voice just a little hoarse. “For yourself and any kin?”

Alistair laughed, he couldn’t help it. “Yes, of course,” he told them. “I, uh, formally renounce my claim to the throne.”

Eamon was outraged, but even he couldn’t go against the entire Landsmeet. Alistair felt guilty, in a way. All that time, all that careful planning and maneuvering around the other nobility to ensure his spot on the throne, wasted. This _was_ for the best, however, and Eamon would see that soon enough.

When the final preparations were made and it was decided that they could deal with the official business after the Blight had been handled, Neria disappeared. No one seemed to know where she went – a trait that Alistair was certain Leliana or Zevran was teaching her – and so Alistair retired to his room. He had only just finished pulling off the last of his armor when there was a knock on the door. “Come in,” he called out, stretching his arms over his head.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

He turned too fast, nearly knocked himself over. Neria stood in the doorway, holding what looked like a shield awkwardly behind her back and unable to hold his gaze for longer than a second. But she was _there_! She came to see him, came to talk to him! Alistair cleared his throat, gestured that she come in fully. “I, uh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I – yes, of course,” Neria said, cheeks as pink as his. Carefully, she pulled the shield that she had been hiding – poorly so – from behind her back and held it out for him. “I think you should have this.”

Alistair looked down at the shield, frowning for a second before he recognized what he was staring at. “This… this shield. It’s Duncan’s, isn’t it? That’s his crest…” he stared at it, eyes tracing over the familiar pattern. He felt the lump form in his chest but managed to swallow past it to look up. Her eyes were on him, warmer than he had seen in days. “Thank you,” he breathed. “Truly. I had no idea his shield wasn’t with him. This is…perfect. I don’t know how else to express my gratitude. This means a great deal to me. I can’t believe you remembered at all.”

“Of course I remembered,” Neria said quickly, cheeks burning. He felt his heart stutter, felt nothing but happiness at how immediate she had been, how she had remembered his words from months before. Nervously, she cleared her throat. “I, uh, I should get going.”

“Wait.”

He reached out and caught her by the elbow, stopping her in his tracks. Alistair could feel the heat from her skin radiating off, could feel his heart pounding all the way through his body. If she left, if he let her walk away again, he might not get the chance. “Neria, I…we need to talk. Please.”

She turned back to him slowly, walls already forming behind her eyes. She didn’t yank her arm free or move away, however, and he took that as a good sign. “You said that we – we couldn’t be together because I was going to be king,” he started, licking his lips to try and ease the dryness. “That people would talk and it would ruin me. Well, I’m not going to be king anymore.”

“I know.” The words were careful, deliberate. Neria met his gaze, held it for the first time in weeks.

When she didn’t say anything else, Alistair leaned in closer. “My feelings haven’t changed,” he told her softly. While she didn’t respond, he could feel the way her body reacted to his words, the almost exhalation of relief that breathed off her. “I still want us to be together.”

For a second, it looked like she might lean in as well, claim his lips like he could see that she wanted to. But then something snapped, and she instead leaned back slightly. “Is now really the best time for this?” she finally said, coughing into her hand a little. “I mean, we’re leaving for Redcliffe in the morning to confront of the archdemon.”

Alistair grinned. “When has our timing ever been perfect?” he pointed out, relieved that she smiled as well. “And, besides, isn’t that the best reason? We could die in a few days! Wouldn’t it be better to spend it with the person you love?”

Neria looked up at him for a long while, and though she did not back down the walls that were guarding her emotions, he could the love swirling just beneath the surface, too powerful to hide completely. “Can we...discuss this again after the archdemon is dead?” she finally said. “I don’t want to make a promise now that could very well be broken in a manner of days.”

It was not the answer he wanted, nor the answer he had been expecting, but one he would take all the same. “I – yes, of course,” he finally told her. He flashed her another grin and gently released her elbow. “All the more reason to make sure we both survive, right?”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Good night, Alistair,” she told him. He waved, watching her go with a smile playing at his lips.

It wasn’t much. But it was better than it had been.

After that, things continued to get better between them. She no longer avoided him, was speaking regularly to him again. They rode beside one another on their march to Redcliffe, just like old times. They talked and laughed and ignored the way their companions were regarding them. Morrigan, and Sten were silent; Leliana and Zevran were ecstatic; Oghren made a single joke and then downed what looked like a full flash of alcohol; and Wynne watched with pursed lips without saying a word. Alistair knew that he was potentially deluding himself, that they could all very well perish in the upcoming battle.

But to have her next to him again, even without being able to kiss her whenever the urge struck, was a happiness he had been hurting for.

The days that followed, however, served nothing except to remind them all how desperate their situation had become. The archdemon was heading to Denerim, and they were days away. Neria directed them all with steely grace that Alistair had spent months watching form, ensured the lives of her companions as they fought to save Redcliffe from the small horde of darkspawn. When the castle had once more been won, she listened to Eamon’s plan without a complaint. When Riordan told them that one of them must sacrifice themselves in order to slay the archdemon, she stood next to a surprised Alistair like a pillar of Dwarven stone.

She wouldn’t speak to him afterwards, just turned on her heel and marched back to her bedroom and slammed the door shut. Alistair watched her go, rubbing the back of his neck and hesitating before finally retiring to his own room.

One of them was going to die. Riordan had expressed a desire to do so himself, and Alistair was inclined to agree with him. He was certainly in no hurry to kill himself, but he’d do it without hesitation if it meant Neria would be spared. He paced around his room, still fully dressed in armor that was stained with darkspawn blood, trying to wrap his mind about everything that had happened, everything they had learned. His eyes fell on Duncan’s – _his_ – shield, and he made a noise of frustration. If Duncan were here, he kept telling himself, then they would be better. He would have told them, would have given them time to prepare for something like this. But he was gone and soon, Neria might be too.

The thought hit him hard, and he reached up, grabbed at his chest above his armor and closed his eyes like it was physically hurting him. He had lost so much already – they all had – and to think that the one person he was certain he wouldn’t live without might not be there in the days to come was too much.

He would not spend what could be their last night pacing around in his armor.

Alistair turned and left, intending to bang on her door until the noise eventually forced her to open up if that was what it took.

“Morrigan, please. Please don’t make me do this.”

All the determination fled him at the sound of her voice, pleading. He stopped slowly, eyes narrowed as he watched the two mage’s argue about something from within her room. They stopped when they heard him, and the look that Morrigan gave him was cold, even from her. Neria looked tired, more so than she had in days, and the urge to go and stroke her hair was almost too strong to resist. Finally, Morrigan whispered something to her and then turned on her heel and marched back out the room. Alistair watched her go, made a face as she brushed past him, and immediately turned to speak to Neria.

She was already walking towards him, and he thought for a second that she meant to embrace him, but then she stopped by the doors, shaking her head. “Not now, Alistair,” she told him. “Please.”

“Neria, wait,” he said, reaching for her. She was already pushing the door closed, loose hair falling around her eyes just as he swore that he caught what looked like tears on her cheeks. “Just talk to me, Neria, let me help!” he tried, standing helplessly as the wooden doors were drawn close. She paused, looked up at him through the shrinking crack in the door, tears dotting her cheeks.

“I’m sorry.”

And then the doors were shut and he was still left standing in the hallway, heart racing and panic spreading through him. He considered banging on the door anyways, forcing her to speak with him, but something about the way she had whispered her apology gave him pause. Morrigan. Morrigan had done something. Anger flashed, and he looked down the hall. The rest of their rooms wouldn’t be far. He took a deep breath, drew himself up a little taller and went marching down the hallway.

Morrigan was surprisingly easy to find considering she could take the shape of just about any animal. She almost looked as if she had been waiting for him, sitting on her bed and playing with something between her fingers. “Hello, Alistair,” she drawled when he drew close. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“What did you do to Neria?”

The Witch looked up, one eyebrow rose. Alistair didn’t flinch. “What did I do? _I_ did nothing. ‘Twas you and your other Grey Wardens that have caused her troubles, no?”

“What are you talking about?” Alistair asked, swallowing hard. He should have guessed she wouldn’t give anything away; she never did. “That isn’t what I asked, Morrigan. What did you say to her? She was crying when you left.”

Morrigan rose, paced around the room towards the fire. “Allow me to return to that later,” she said, stopping directly in front of the small fire. “I am aware of what happens when an archemon is slain. More importantly, Neria has been aware of this for some time now.” Her words sunk in slowly, and Alistair opened his mouth to say something and then shut it. If he interrupted her, she’d only get angry and then he’d really never know what in the Void she was saying. “She fully intends to sacrifice herself, as I’m sure you’ve perhaps guessed. ‘Tis why she won’t speak with you.”

“Where is this going?”

She turned to him, a glint in her golden eyes that made his stomach drop. “I know of an alternative, a way for a Grey Warden to slay the archdemon without losing their life,” she said, voice dropping. “I offered this to Neria, but she would have none of it. Perhaps, then, knowing that it is your beloved on the line, you might be more willing to consider?”

Alistair did not like the sound of this. She was never this friendly for this long. Neria had rejected whatever offer she had, and he suspected that he should do the same.

_But if it could save her._

He sighed, resigned. “Go on.”

And so she did, detailing her way to save both Neria and himself. His shock was immediate and absolute, and if it had only been a manner of keeping himself alive, he’d have stormed off the moment she suggested they _lay_ together. But Neria’s life was equally at stake, her chance of dying as great. He rubbed at the stubble growing around his mouth, turned away from her to consider.

Sleep with Morrigan and produce some Old God soul-ed child, or lose Neria.

In the end, he wasn’t sure that he had made the right decision. All he was certain of was that he loved her too much to take the risk that she might not survive. After they had finished, he slunk back to his room and collapsed onto the bed, pressing his fists against his eyes and trying to ignore the smell of their _laying_ that still clouded around him. Maker, he hoped she would understand.

It was pushed to the back of his mind during the battle. Anything that was not _survival_ was pushed away, and he fought the darkspawn relentlessly alongside her. They were bruised, bloody, and Neria was sporting a particularly nasty burn that spanned her left shoulder. The armies had come, rained arrows down upon the Old God and kept the smaller darkspawn at bay while Neria and Morrigan attacked the archdemon from afar. By the time the dragon was falling, Alistair could hardly move, but Neria still had energy. She had been preparing for this, had spent who-knew-how long readying herself for this moment. She was not the mage he had met at Ostagar. She was a Grey Warden, more of one that he might ever become.

She took the opportunity before he had the chance. Grabbed the nearest sword out of the closest corpse and ran forward. “Neria!” he screamed, heart pounding in his chest as the blade sliced through its’ throat. The dragon screamed, a sound that shook Alistair to his very core, but he didn’t dare look away. Leliana was next to him, watching with wide eyes as their friend, the newest Grey Warden and the youngest among them, jumped onto it’s back. Her eyes found his from across the roof as she lifted the sword high over her head, and for the first time since he had known her, she bared her soul to him in full. It made his heart stutter, made his breathing clip and as the sword was thrust deep into its neck, a light emitted from the beast strong enough to send him staggering back, covering his eyes. “Neria!” he screamed again, but the sound of the archdemon’s soul was too loud, the light too great.

And then it was over. Just like that.

Alistair slowly rising off the ground, looking around. The darkspawn were trying to flee, but the armies were taking care of them, and his attention returned to Neria.

She was on the ground, slowly picking herself up. His heart jumped – she was alive. Morrigan’s ritual had worked. Her face was contorted in pain and confusion, as if she didn’t quite understand how she was still alive. Alistair watched her blink a few times, watched the way she struggled to push herself onto her knees and then onto her feet. When finally she looked up, found him watching her, realization hit her.

Her eyes widened, and Alistair watched as unbidden pain clouded her eyes as she finally understood what had to have happened. Guilt seized him, and he made to move towards her, but she shook her head. The army around them cheered, threw their swords above their heads and hailed Neria Surana as the Hero of the Ferelden.

She turned, ready to leave and probably leave him behind for good, but Alistair followed. “I – I can explain,” he tried, stumbling behind her. He expected Leliana to follow him, but she remained behind.

“You don’t need to,” Neria spat, not turning around. “I understand _exactly_ what happened.”

When Alistair finally caught up to her, he grabbed her armored elbow and forced her to face him. Her eyes were blazing, filled with a fire he had hoped might never be directed to him. It was almost enough for him to drop her, but he tightened his hold. “It isn’t what you think,” he tried.

“Oh, it isn’t?” she said, and her voice was so mocking that she almost sounded like Morrigan. “So you mean you didn’t fuck one of my best friends and impregnate her?”

He flinched. “I did it to save you, Neria,” he said, forcing his voice to remain calm. One of them had to remain calm, one of them had to keep their composure of this would end badly. “I did it for us.”

“For us?” she repeated, glowering up at him. She was so much shorter than him, and while she could be intimidating when she wanted to be, he still stood a head and a half taller. He glowered back, reminding her that he was also not a force to be reckoned with. “And did you even consider that perhaps there might not be an ‘us’ after that, Alistair?” He sputtered, words not coherent, but she didn’t let him try again. “Get off of me and let me go.”

“I couldn’t lose you!” he finally managed, pulling her closer. She stumbled forward, never losing her composure or the anger in her eyes. “Of course I thought about that, it was all I _could_ think about! But when I thought about how you might not make it… I… I just couldn’t handle it!”

She regarded him coldly, eyes a steel wall that he could not get through. She was silent for a long while, and then, “I didn’t ask for this, Alistair. I didn’t ask to become a Warden or to lead you and everyone else. And I certainly didn’t ask you to save me.”

Anger finally spilled over, too much to contain. “I didn’t ask you to make me king, either!” he growled. “But that didn’t stop you from trying anyways. Didn’t stop you from leaving me when it was convenient for you!”

Neria stared at him for a second, a flash of hurt and something else crossing her face before they were quickly shoved aside. Alistair desperately searched her for some sign of the love that he _knew_ was there somewhere, looked over the eyes that had once so longingly stared into his. He could deal with her anger, could take any frustration that she would give out, but this was different.

There was no anger, there was no hurt. There was simply…nothing.

Her expression had gone blank, eyes dull and almost bored looking. He recognized the look. Knew that it was the one she made when she had nothing left to say, nothing left to do. “Let go of me,” she said again, and her voice cut through him like the archdemon’s claws had tried. Alistair felt his eyes widen, felt his hand slip off her elbow as she turned away. Surprise turned to hurt, hurt to anger. Too hot, too fiery, and the words that came next spilled out of him like the acid Zevran made.

“I should have let you die.”

Neria stumbled once, but Alistair didn’t stay to hear whatever else she might have added. He turned away from her, went to rejoin the armies as they stormed down the keep to officially spread the good news, away from Neria, away from the pieces of his heart that lay scattered around the floor.

\--

It took Alistair approximately seven months to realize the full severity of his mistakes. He sat in his own camp, staring at the fire and missing the time he had spent with the others, with Neria. After the celebration, she had simply disappeared. No one could find her, or if they could, they certainly wouldn’t tell him. He had tried Amaranthine first, as Anora had gifted the Wardens the city and she had inevitably been made Commander of the Grey. She was not there, though he suspected that perhaps she had instructed her guards to simply keep him away. He helped in the darkspawn cleanup efforts, based himself in Vigil’s Keep in an attempt to try and see her again.

It didn’t take long to figure out that she must have spies posted to tell her of his arrival, for she never seemed to be there when he returned, no matter how sporadic he was.

Alistair gave up after a while, chose to leave Amaranthine behind and work with the others in recruitment and lingering darkspawn cleanup. She wouldn’t see him, and to be so close to her and know that she was making an effort to ensure it stayed that way hurt more than he could bear. On the first night after he left, he sat down to write his first letter. It was short, for he wasn’t exactly known for his penmanship, but heartfelt all the same.

_Neria, I miss you more than I thought possible. Please keep yourself safe, if not for me, then for the recruits that have stars in their eyes were they speak of you._

\--

_I'm sorry, Neria._

\--

_I traveled to Amaranthine not long ago and met a few Wardens that had worked with you to defeat the Architect. The mage, Anders I think, gave me the dirtiest look. So did the Howe boy, but I think his face just always looks like that. You'd think it would be harder to believe that they named you Commander of the Grey, but if anyone could lead the restoration effort, it would be you. Be safe, Neria._

\--

_I'm leaving Ferelden for a while. I don't know if the orders come from you or the man you put in charge so you could continue hiding, but they've sent me up to Kirkwall. It's been three years since anyone's seen you, I think the seneschal is losing his mind. I do wonder if perhaps he's sending us outside of Ferelden in the hopes that we might bump into you in some tavern or market. If you wanted to be found, you'd have been found already, though. Wherever you are, I hope you've kept safe. I still pray for a chance to see you again, but I suspect that day may never come. I understand._

\--

_Can you believe a Ferelden refugee took down the Arishok? Her brother, Carver, is one of the Wardens under my command right now. He speaks about her with an equal amount of jealousy and admiration. Bit of a tit, but what can you do? You'd be proud of the progress the Grey Wardens have been making. I'll be heading back to Ferelden soon, I suppose. We were on our way out when the invasion started, and the seneschal doesn't want us lingering around and getting involved. If only Eamon had had the same mindset._

\--

_I've met the Inquisitor. She's young, like you had been during the Blight. Not the least overwhelmed, however. Her Inquisition worships the ground she walks on, you could see it in their eyes. We'll be working with her for a while longer as we try to solve this false Calling. I hope you've traveled far enough that you are outside of it's reaches. It's maddening! All I can ever hear is the archdemon singing my final words to you, over and over again. It's a wonder I haven't stuck a dagger through my skull just to make it stop. I had hoped ten years would be enough time that I might be able to forgive myself, but with the words ringing so clearly in my head once more, I fear that is not the case. Perhaps it never will be. Maker, I miss you. Please keep yourself safe from Corypheus, from the false Calling, all of it. I might be able to accept the day we meet again will never come, but to hear news that you were found dead in the woods somewhere, alone, is worse than any false Calling._

\--

“Do you think the Hero of Ferelden is involved in all this?”

Alistair had suspected the question would come eventually, but the soft ache that followed her still hit. He cleared his throat, put on a smile. “You know, she never was much one for fancy titles. She probably cringes every time someone refers to her as the Hero of Ferelden instead of her name,” he said lightly. When Evelyn looked ready to panic, he quickly added, “Which is Neria, by the way. But, ah, no. I doubt it. Last I heard, she was traveling somewhere far to the west, looking for something.”

Her next question came softly, hesitantly. “The way you talk about her, I’m surprised you two aren’t still together,” she started. Alistair met her gaze as evenly as he could. “All the stories, I mean, they talk of the Hero – of Neria and Alistair, always a pair. If you don’t mind me asking… what happened to change that?”

She was better versed in her Blight history than he had suspected. “We got caught up in too many politics,” he finally decided. “Too many complicated situations. It wears you down, after a point.”

“Oh.” There was something about the way Evelyn shifted uncomfortably that had Alistair’s eyebrows raising. It dawned on him as her cheeks turned pink, that she had asked for her own sake more so than curiosity.

He chuckled once. “I see,” he said. “Might I ask who the lucky person is?” Evelyn stammered out something incoherent, and Alistair allowed himself a full laugh. “It’s alright, I know how it goes. You’re worried that perhaps your own situation will try and tear you apart, and you aren’t wrong to worry. What happened between Neria and I was a bit more… complex than anything you might be facing.” She seemed to visibly relax with his words, and he cleared his throat. “Might I offer some advice? Whatever your situation, keep your love close. Neria and I were always doomed to fall apart, I’m afraid. But it doesn’t have to be that way for you.”

\--

Alistair guessed that he had written her some three hundred letters over the years. He didn’t write every day, and some letters were nothing more than an, “I still love you,” scrawled against a piece of scrap paper, but he hoped that Evelyn and Leliana would find a way to deliver them to her eventually. He had always meant to, but the thought that she might still be keeping watch to avoid him as Vigil’s Keep was enough of a deterrent to stop him from trying.

The Nightmare demon sung songs in his head as he fought, valiantly tried to break him down further, but Alistair was strong. Nothing the demon could say to him was worse than everything else he had been saying to himself over the last decade. Regret and remorse had defined him, built their way into every part of his mind. He knew that he was going to die. The Nightmare demon’s songs meant nothing to him, not when he was already so acutely certain of his fate.

With the Taint in his blood and Morrigan’s child by her side in Skyhold, he had managed to cheat death twice. No one, he thought, was lucky enough to do so a third time.

As he lay there, sword shattered and shield too far to grab, Alistair closed his eyes. The demon would be upon him soon enough. He had no idea how long it had been since the others escaped, had no idea how much time was passing around them, but he was certain that his time would be ending soon enough. He let his eyes flutter close, let his mind wander to better days, days spent traveling and nights spent around the campfire.

He had found a family with their band of misfits, had found a home in the tents they carried and patched. He had found love in an elven Circle mage that had stared down the best friend that had betrayed her and wept her forgiveness. And soon he would find death in the Fade. His last letter, he hadn’t said goodbye, he realized. He had never prepared for the eventuality that he would perish, had always held onto the hope that maybe they might run into each other, might be able to at least part on better terms.

_I should have let you die._

Ten years later, and he was still glad that he hadn’t, no matter what he had said.

\--

The hole that tore through the sky in Adamant was brief, but terrifying. The soldiers that lingered behind screamed, shouted orders to contact the Inquisitor - _now_ \- when one of them noticed that a single body had fallen out. The rift closed as quickly as it had opened, leaving them with nothing more than green light dancing behind their eyes and what appeared to be a man dressed in Grey Warden armor.

Healers were called and summoned, and they wasted no time confirming that it was Alistair, the Warden that had sacrificed himself so that the others might escape. He was alive, they said. But he was not well.

They worked for two nights straight healing his injuries. He did not wake during that time, hardly even moved. On the fourth day, he awoke with a start, gasping for air and groping around the sheets for something that wasn’t there. He listened only long enough to hear a confirmation that he had left the Fade, had somehow been returned home, and then he was gone. He grabbed a set of Warden Armor from the storage, found a sword and lamented something about a shield, and then left. In his wake, they found a single piece of paper.

_Tell her I’m coming for her._

\--

When at least he arrived in Skyhold, it was the middle of the night. He was tired, body weak from the Fade and desperate for a hot meal. His horse was miserable, irritated that he had pushed it so hard to arrive back in the mountains, but he didn’t care. There were more pressing matters to attend to.

He slid off the beast when he drew near, and to his surprise, the guards didn’t spare him a second glance as he stumbled his way past them. One of them asked if he needed a healer, and when he didn’t answer, he just shrugged. If Alistair had to guess, he would say that the Inquisitor had given the Wardens a place here, and with his armor, he simply looked like one of them.

“Alistair?”

He looked up, chills going down his back. He had done a _damn_ good job of avoiding Morrigan the last time had been here, but there she was. A child stood next to her, dark hair and dark eyes and looking at him curiously.

Maker’s breath, his child.

“I had heard that you…” she paused, shaking her head. “What are you doing here?”

“I have to speak to Leliana,” he rasped. Morrigan frowned, and he wondered how he must look. Weak, frail, covered in dirt and mud no doubt. He probably looked like he had been risen from the grave like the ghouls they fought in Redcliffe. “Where is she?”

The Witch seemed to consider something for a moment, and then turned to her son and quietly instructed he head to their chambers. Alistair watched him go, wondered how much of himself would be found in the boy. “Come,” Morrigan instructed. “I will take you to her.”

Before, he might have questioned her motive, but there was something softer about her voice now, something gentler in the way she held herself. Ten years had done her well, left her with a grace she had lacked. They made no attempt to talk as they walked, and Morrigan quietly led him to the Herald’s Rest. He frowned. Leliana had made no visits to the bar in his time here, but something about the urgency that the Witch walked with made him believe she was truly here.

He pushed the door open and was surprised to find the place already packed. In the back, sitting at the bar itself, was Leliana and the Inquisitor, with an elf sitting between them. He nodded his gratitude to Morrigan and began to move in, eyes sliding back over to the elf.

She had long blonde hair that was pulled into a braid that trailed down her back, and when she turned her head to say something to the spymaster, he caught sight of freckles dotting her tanned neck. Her left ear was squared rather than pointed, as it someone had taken a chunk off of it. Alistair stopped short, eyes going wide. He regarded the elf carefully, hardly believing that it could even be possible. But then he heard Leliana confirm it, heard his beloved’s name slip off her tongue as easily as it had ten years ago.

It was her. Neria was here, sitting just twenty feet away from him.

“Neria?”

Her name fell from his lips like a breath of fresh air, and a few people turned to stare at the beaten down man standing a few feet from the entrance. Leliana turned first, her hearing as good as ever, and the small gasp that followed was what eventually drew Neria’s attention. She looked up at her friend, and then followed her gaze to where Alistair was standing.

Noon sky eyes met his and any doubt that he might have had upon who he was staring at were gone. It was her, really her. He let his eyes hungrily take her in, noticing the stiff way she was sitting – she hated bars – and the way her eyes had deep bags beneath them – she never did sleep very well – and the way her body seemed to sag under the weight of the world – she never was good at letting people help. Realization dawned on her slowly, and Alistair watched as her expression shifted from polite curiosity to surprise to hope.

His heart hammered against his chest, and his mouth was parted like he was going to speak but nothing could come, because she was _here_ and he had missed her so much more than any letter could have described.

Neria turned towards him slowly, as if she was not fully in control of her own movements yet.

“Alistair?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the delay, I was incredibly busy last week and didn't get a chance to post this Sunday night like I hoped.
> 
> I'll definitely be able to post the next chapter on Sunday, though.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed it!


	4. Lovers Together Once More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have crawled out of the depths of working hell to give you this chapter please forgive me

“Alistair?”

The name fell from her tongue and Neria had to take a second before she understood just _exactly_ what it was she was seeing. It felt like the world had stopped around them, and she was vaguely aware that people were watching her, looking between the two of them with wide eyes.

He was pale, that was the first thing her mind registered. Leliana – or Evelyn, she wasn’t quite sure which anymore – had told her that he had been hiding out in the caves of Crestwood for some time before joining them at Skyhold, so this wasn’t necessarily startling. His hair was brighter than she remembered, pushed back away from his face but still somehow every bit the mess she had known. He looked weak, ready to collapse at the slightest breeze and Neria felt an overwhelming urge to go to him if only to ensure he did not topple.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, she was moving towards him, never breaking eye contact as he met her halfway. He was still a head and shoulders taller than her, and when she looked up at him, it felt so familiar that Neria had to remind herself that years still sat between them, not just inches.

Neither of them said anything. _No one_ said anything. The two of them stood there, unsure of what to say, unsure of what they were supposed to do. For the first time, Neria broke eye contact, looking down at her hands. They were trembling, and she clenched them in a poor attempt at making them still. He seemed to lean closer, and she felt the heat that radiated off of him brush against her arms.

“They said you were gone.”

Neria felt tears run down her cheeks, and she looked back up, heart trembling in her chest. His own eyes were glassy as well, but rather than wipe them away, he hesitantly reached up, cupped her cheeks in his hands. Her eyes fluttered close and she instinctively leaned against his palms, breathe coming out shakily. “I thought I had lost you again,” she whispered, voice stopping short as more tears overcame her.

She felt as if something was breaking her apart, ripping open her seams and bursting out from within her. Years of building walls and burying the things that mattered came rushing forth, demanded to be felt this time.

And then he leaned down and kissed her.

He was every bit as gentle as he was familiar, his lips moving tentatively against her own. Neria’s response was immediate and genuine, reaching up on her toes so that she might get closer to him. Her arms wrapped around his chest and pulled herself against him. There was a pounding in her chest and she realized with a jolt that it was not her own heart she was feeling anymore, but his, each beat a reminder that he was _here_ , that he was _alive_.

When they finally pulled away, Alistair leaned his forehead against hers, brushed his thumbs against her cheeks to dry the tears that still spilled out. His lips ever so lightly touched hers for a second, and she could feel the smile that played there. “I’m alive,” he breathed, words fanning across her face. Something about the way he said it, the almost reverent way he comforted her made her think that he had not quite been able to accept it until that moment. As if not even his wildest dreams could have allowed such a reunion. “I’m here now, Neria,” he said, nuzzling the tip of his nose against hers. Neria nodded, a laugh bubbling to the surface.

From somewhere in the bar, she heard the Iron Bull whistle loudly. “‘Bout time!” he called. Blush was already creeping into her cheeks, and before they knew it, more cheers had followed. Alistair pulled back a little and blinked before he grinned. He laughed and pulled her closer into a hug, one Neria was all too willing to comply with.

Leliana was there next, arms thrown around them both as she cried her praises to the Maker and Andraste. Neria couldn’t help the laughter that followed, wondered if anyone in the bar had ever seen their Spymaster with so much emotion. For a second, the three of them stood together, laughing and crying and smiling at a reunion too many years in the making. She had seen Morrigan standing behind Alistair earlier, but when the elf looked back up, the Witch was nowhere to be seen.

They were ushered up to the front, drinks pushed into their hands. Alistair didn’t reject any of them, agreeing to any and all challenges that came his way. His cheeks were flushed, and though there was happiness etched into his eyes, there was also exhaustion. Neria remained by his side, always in contact with him as Skyhold celebrated for the first time in weeks. Evelyn came forward not long after the first round of drinks, shyly apologized to Alistair for giving the order. He waved it away, unwilling to hold her accountable for making the tough calls.

“I was lucky in that regard,” he explained, arms tightening against Neria’s waist. “If all the tough calls had been left to me, we’d probably still be running around fighting the Blight.”

His words warmed Neria in a way she hadn’t expected. Was this his way of telling her that he understood now? She found his hand and squeezed gently. “I’m sure that isn’t true,” she told him. “Assuming you and Morrigan hadn’t killed each other within an hour of traveling together, I’m sure she would have kept you on track.”

Evelyn laughed. “Now wouldn’t that have been a sight!” she said. Alistair laughed as well, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. “I am truly happy for you both,” the Inquisitor told them, taking their entwined hands in her own. “Truly. Perhaps after Corypheus has been defeated, we can sit down and become better friends.”

As she disappeared back into the crowd – most likely to find Cullen – Neria bit her lip. Now was not the time for unhappy thoughts, and she quickly pushed them all to the back of her mind. Not now, not now.

As the night drew on, Neria could feel Alistair’s exhaustion starting to catch up to him. He seemed to sag against her, weight pressing down on her in a way that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. His eyes would droop close when no one was speaking to him, and more than once, the elf was certain he had fallen asleep sitting up. Carefully, she moved against him, jolting him awake. “I am going to take Alistair back to my room,” she explained to a watching Leliana. The bard smirked and Neria felt her cheeks flood with color. “Not like that! He needs to rest.” 

Leliana laughed, but she nodded. “We shall see you tomorrow? Or should I inform Cullen that another guard will be necessary?” Neria rolled her eyes and didn’t answer. Carefully, she slipped one of his arms across her shoulders, awkwardly supporting his weight against her body.

When they started walking, he became more responsive, able to mostly support himself while they left the bar – more cheers and whistles sending them off. “Where are we going?” Alistair mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“I’m taking you to my room so you can rest.”

“I don’t want to rest,” he told her, shaking his head. Neria stifled a laugh; he looked like a child being dragged to bed too early. “I think we should… talk. The two of us.”

Neria ignored the way her heart sped up at the idea. “I think we should as well, but –”

“No. No buts. Hasn’t it been long enough?”

Neria didn’t answer. Yes, she wanted to tell him. They had waited much too long, but as much as she would have liked nothing more than to spend the night talking with him and relearning all the things she had fallen in love with, he _needed_ to rest. “We can talk first thing in the morning,” she finally told him as they reached the tower. He made a noise of disagreement, but Neria shook her head. “You’re falling asleep, Alistair.”

He sighed a little and rested his head against hers. “I missed hearing you say my name,” he told her. Neria paused, face flushed once more and heart fluttering. “Maker, I missed you so much.” Alistair shifted his stance, gently wrapping both arms around her and pulling her into a tight embrace that she did not fight. He swayed for a second before leaning back, his back pressed against the door. The two of them remained like that for some time, even as the breeze chilled and Neria could feel her own body start to shake from the cold.

They stood there, two Wardens against the world once more.

Alistair was the first to pull away this time, body reluctantly shifting against hers. “You’re freezing,” he told her, hands finding the exposed parts of her arms. “I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry. Come on, let’s get you inside.” He tried to usher her back inside, but his body was still too weak, and he would have toppled over if Neria hadn’t reached out to steady him. Once he was no longer in danger of crashing to the ground, he laughed. “Maybe you are right about me needing rest,” he told her, and didn’t fight when she helped him to the bed.

He sighed as his body sunk into the mattress, and Neria wondered how long it had been since the man had let himself relax. She watched as he clumsily undid the straps of his armor and then carefully set it on the ground next to him. Her own armor set was on the opposite end, just as it had been before. Warmth filled her chest, and she quietly looked away to give him some more privacy. “Neria.” She turned back, one hand at the bottom of her braid to pull the string loose. He was sitting up, armor neatly placed next to the bed and dressed now in nothing but a loose tunic and pants. He looked as if he would fall asleep the second his head hit the pillow, but something was keeping him up, forcing him to remain upright. “Come to bed.”

The thoughts made her heart jump right up into her throat, and Neria can’t stop the ensuing blush. His own cheeks are painted as well, though not as vibrantly, and he holds fast to his words. “You… want me to?” she finally manages. “I mean, I can always sleep elsewhere, and Maker knows you need to –”

“Neria,” he said, stopping her short. With great effort, he slid off the bed and back onto his feet, moving towards her. “I have gone ten long years without you beside me,” he sighed, laying his forehead against her own. “Please believe me when I say there is _nothing_ I’d like more than to fall asleep knowing you’ll be right here when I wake up.”

His words melted away whatever resistance she could have given, and she quickly pulled off the casual wear that the Inquisition had gifted her in favor of a comfortable cotton shirt. His eyes closed while she changed, and while the act comforted her, it also pricked just a little. Another reminder of the years between them.

When at least she crawled into bed, Alistair was quick to wrap himself around her. One arm draped loosely around her waist, drawing patterns into the muscles of her back. The other was kept on her cheek, holding her close. Her own hands found comfort in his chest, fingers tracing the familiar dips through the fabric. “You’re beautiful,” Alistair whispered after a while, eyes just barely remaining open. He smiled at Neria’s blush and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. For a second, Neria thought he might fall asleep after, but then his eyes opened and turned serious, the lines that decorated his cheeks seemed to deepen. “You won’t… you’ll still be here in the morning, won’t you?”

The uncertainty in his voice nearly shattered her own, and she could only nod in response. When finally she could find her voice again, she said, “I’m not going anywhere, Alistair.”

He mumbled some nonsense in return and moved closer, pulling her small frame against his and tucking his chin over her head. In seconds, he was asleep, leaving Neria with nothing but the weight of his arms against her and the rise and fall of his chest against her own. Neria had never been a restful sleeper; she would toss and turn all night long in between fits of sleeping, but there was something comforting about Alistair’s body pressed against hers, and sleep finds her after only a few minutes.

\--

When Neria awoke the following morning, the first thing she was aware of was the weight of something pressed against her hip. She wiggled slightly, but it does little to help, and it was with a soft groan that she opened her eyes to see.

Alistair.

He was still pressed against her, arms holding her firmly in place. Neria froze, not wishing to disrupt him when he so desperately needed sleep. After a second of laying still, she could feel him start to move, recognized the noises of his body beginning to wake. “Neria?” he breathed, voice brushing against the top of her head. His arms tighten around her, hands gripping at the fabric of her shirt.

“I’m here, Alistair,” she whispered, hands moving against his chest. He flinched slightly, and she stopped, hands moving away from him. He looked down at her, hair a mess and brown eyes wide with something she can’t quite place.

How many mornings did he wake, arms reaching for her only to find nothing but space in his grip?

“You stayed.” Alistair shifted against her once more, carefully moving his arms so that she is no longer as confined. Neria bit down on her lip, hating that he had been so uncertain and knowing that it was her own fault. Alistair cleared his throat, one hand gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers traced the scarred tissue, sending shivers down her back. “Andraste’s ass, I forgot how much better it was to wake up with someone next to you.”

Blush crept into Neria’s cheeks. He’s right, of course, waking up wrapped against another person – especially one that you loved – was infinitely better than any other way you could wake. “As did I,” she admitted with another chuckle. He offered her a sleepy smile and then yawned, body tensing into a stretch that lasts a few seconds.

Now that they were no longer surrounded by friends and strangers alike, and Alistair no longer looked ready to collapse at any second, Neria allowed herself the time to properly study him. He had lost much of the youthful innocence that she remembered, eyes more serious and gaunt now. His hair had lightened in color, and the impressive tan he had always sported had faded into a pale shadow of what had been. This is not the man who joked about the Blight bringing people together. This is the man that laughed before he killed Loghain, the one that had agreed to sleep with Morrigan so that they both might live.

“Neria? What’s wrong?”

It wasn’t until he asked that the elf realized that her grief was showing once more. Alistair moved against her, cupping her cheeks in his hands and gently forcing her to look up at him. Concern had clouded his eyes, all remnants of sleep gone now. “We should talk,” Neria finally managed, biting down on her lip.

Alistair looked almost ready to argue, but slowly nodded. “That would perhaps be best,” he agreed, voice as careful as her own had been.

Neither of them continued. There was so much that she wanted to say, so many things she felt that she needed to tell him, but now none of it came. She guessed that it was the same for him. “I guess I’ll start, then,” he said, laughing nervously. “That… last thing I said to you, after the archdemon was dead, Neria, I – I didn’t mean it. It was a stupid thing to say, truly, and I’ve regretted it every second since.” His voice shook, just slightly, and Neria had to look away. His words still rung in her ears, had been the basis for many of her nightmares and dark thoughts throughout the years. For so long, so much of her had agreed with him, had thought over and over again that he _should_ have let her die. “And don’t tell me its fine, either. Don’t tell me it’s fine because you’re afraid you’ll offend me or something. Maker knows I’ve earned all the offense you can send my way,” he said. “It was an awful thing to say, and I wish I hadn’t. But I can’t take it back, I know that now.”

“It was,” Neria agreed, unable to meet his eyes. “But no more worse than everything else I’ve said to myself over the years.”

She could feel the concern from his gaze, but carefully avoided it. “I was so young when we started the journey, Alistair. I mean, I hadn’t been outside the Circle since I was a little girl! And then, without any warning, we were saving people and being asked to do these impossible things and everyone was looking to me to make all these equally impossible choices and I just… it was just so much,” she said.

“Too much for any one person to shoulder.”

Alistair pressed his forehead against hers, wrapped his arms a little tighter. She could feel the trembling begin to slow, calmed by his touch. “I wish I had been able to see it, then, the stress we all put on you,” he said softly. “That wasn’t fair of us.”

Neria didn’t say anything in response, content to continue laying there with him. There was more, more that both of them needed to get off their chests, but words were hard after so long. “I’m sorry that I left you.” The words came out barely a whisper, and she felt Alistair tense against her. “I thought I was doing what was best for you, making you King and giving you the life that you deserved, even though you kept telling me that it wasn’t what you wanted and I – I should have listened more.”

“Neria,” he said, moving his head up so that he could kiss the top of her head. “It’s alright. I understand, now, what you were trying to do.” When he looked back down at her, his eyes were glassy. “I didn’t then, and I should have. There’s so much I should have just _known_ that I had been too thick headed to realize.”

His voice broke before the words were out, and Neria quickly reached up, wiped away the few tears that spilled out before they could run further than his cheek. He closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, tried to will the tears away before they overtook him. It was something that she knew all too well, and to see him suffer like this was a torture on its own. “We both made plenty of mistakes,” she whispered, rubbing his thumb in a circle against his cheekbone. “We were young and stupid and chasing down a Blight that was just as bent at keeping us apart as Loghain had been.” He smiled a little at that, and Neria mirrored it. “But... we’re together now. It seems impossible to say, but we found our way back.”

“We sort of stumbled our way back into each other’s lives,” Alistair said, cheeks pink. Neria grinned; the very same thing he had once said to her at camp. “I think I’d rather keep it like that, this time. No more of this not seeing each other for a decade, right?” Neria felt her heart stutter in her chest, swallowing past the lump in her throat. At her sudden hesitation, he carefully leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. Unlike the kiss they had shared at the Herald’s Rest just hours ago, this was simple and chaste, and all too soon, Alistair pulled away. “I love you, Neria. I always have, even when I was too angry to accept it.”

“I love you, too.”

The words rushed out of her just like they had the first time, breathless and intimate. Alistair grinned in response, a laugh bubbling up from him that Neria joined. “Oh, good. Now I really know I’m not just making this all up. There’s no chance my imagination could make me this happy,” he laughed. “This is it, then. I’m with you, from here on out. Wherever you go, I go.”

Part of her wanted to argue, tell him no. It would be too dangerous, one of them needed to help the Wardens recover. But she remained silent. Ten years had been long enough, she decided.

Two Wardens, against the world. Just the way it should have always been.

\--

The Inquisition’s advisors stood utterly dumbstruck around the War Table, looking between the two Wardens as if they had somehow fused together. They stood and stared almost defiantly in response, ten years traveling mostly alone more than enough time to ensure their will was steel. Josephine was the one to recover first, clearing her throat and placing her board onto the table. “Are you two sure about this?” she asked, lips pursed. “We don’t know how much Corypehus knows about either of you. You could be placing yourself in danger just by walking out the door!”

Neria laughed. “If I recall, the last thing we placed ourselves right in front of had been the archdemon,” she reminded them. “And I’m sure you all remember who walked away from that.”

“Well, yes, but it’s only been a few days since Alisatir’s miraculous return, and we could offer you both protection you would not find elsewhere.”

“Sorry, but our minds are set,” Alistair interrupted. Their hands were together, fingers laced. “Before Leliana summoned Neria here, she was off in the west, following a lead for a cure to the Calling that all Grey Wardens eventually face – the real one.”

“I would have left sooner, but you stopped me,” Neria pointed out. “For all I know, the lead could have gone cold by now.”

Alistair nodded. “Which is why we plan on leaving three days from now at first light.”

Their response is more stunned silence as they tried to process everything. This time, Morrigan spoke first. “Why so soon? Surely you could wait until we have closed in on Corypheus?”

“We could,” Neria admitted, eyes turning to the Witch. She was surprised to find them warm, pleading almost. “But the Inquisition is already in good hands. There’s not much either of us could do for you that you are not already more than capable of doing for yourselves.” She paused, turned to offer Evelyn a warm smile. “Besides, I think we can both agree that we’ve had our time in the center of Ferelden’s troubles. Alistair and I have done our services. Now it’s your turn.”

The debate lasted for roughly another hour before the Inquisition finally accepted the decision, though not before Leliana forced them both to promise to keep in touch after they leave.

The two of them left the room together, hands still interlocked. Four days had passed since Alistair came stumbling into Skyhold, and his recovery had been relatively swift. Much of the first two days were spent locked away, catching up on the years between them and relearning each other amid all that space. When they did finally leave their room, they were not seen apart, not even once. They visited Kieran, introduced Alistair properly to the son that didn’t know he existed and both accepted a brisk apology from Morrigan for her part in their split. They were often found wandering the battlements, hands clasped together and talking quietly, their smiles never leaving their faces.

“Should we have told them?” Alistair asked softly as they navigated through the mess of nobles that crowded the front hall.

“I think they already know,” Neria told him. “Leliana and Morrigan, at any rate.” She paused slightly, bringing them both to a stop. “It’ll be for the best, I think. They’ll understand in time. And, if they don’t,” she grinned, “Leliana will have no problem letting us know in her next letter.”

\--

_“Evelyn, Josephine, Cullen, Leliana, Morrigan, and everyone else,_  
We’re sorry that we lied. You’ll understand, of course, the importance in finding the cure to our eventual Calling. Neither of us are exactly well versed in knowledge of ancient darkspawn, either, so we would be nothing more than dead weight to your cause. Should we find anything of interest, we will be certain to see it arrives to you without delay.  
It has been an honor to meet with you all, and while it does pain us to leave without a proper goodbye, we hope that you will not hold it too strongly against us. I – Neria – have left a letter each for Leliana, Morrigan, and Evelyn, and hope that will suffice in lieu of a formal parting.  
Thank you for what you have done, not just for Thedas as a whole, but for Alistair and myself.  
With all respect and love,  
Warden-Commander Neria Surana and Warden Alistair” 

Leliana placed the note back down on the table, shaking her head. “We should have seen this coming,” she said after a few seconds, more directed to Morrigan than anything. “Honestly now.”

The Witch shrugged a little. “Neria has always been quite talented at disappearing, you’ll recall. ‘Tis Alistair’s deception that is more surprising,” she said. “Though I suppose being reunited with the woman you love will change you accordingly.”

The other advisors shuffled on their feet, each of them frowning. “Don’t worry,” Evelyn said after a few minutes, smile lighting up her expression. “We were fortunate to have them stay with us for as long they both did. And now they have even more of a reason to go looking for that cure.” Leliana nodded, smile on her lips. “We’ll see them again, I’m sure. And they’ll still be holding hands and making puppy dog eyes when they think no one’s looking.”

Cullen chuckled; Morrigan rolled her eyes. “I certainly did not miss seeing that,” she muttered, examining her long nails. “Very well, then. Shall we return to the task at hand?”

While the others began to once more discuss their next step in defeating Corypheus, Leliana tuned them out. Her eyes found the window, and for just a few seconds, she let herself stare out at Skyhold before them. Somewhere down the path, probably miles away from them by now, Neria and Alistair were traveling together once more. She wished, for just a second, that she might have joined them. But, as Morrigan had reminded her not long after Alistair had reappeared, they needed this time alone. She smiled a little, closing her eyes and humming a short praise to Andraste for bringing them together again.

Something about their reunion had done wonders for the people of Skyhold. The soldiers fought with a renewed strength, their agents seemed happier, and even Morrigan no longer looked as surly as she remembered. It seemed that, in the wake of all the destruction and horror that Corypheus had wrought upon them all, seeing lovers reunited was just what they needed to get back on their feet.

Leliana smirked, shifting her leg slightly so that she could feel Neria’s letter pressed against her hip. Oh yes, she would be sure to give them hell in her next letter.

After she let them be alone for a few weeks longer, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS.  
> Truly and genuinely sorry about how long this chapter took! I thought I knew where I wanted it go, but when I actually tried writing it, I didn't like a lot of what was coming out so it got rewritten a few times before I was happy.  
> And work has been so insanely crazy the last few weeks..  
> But, yeah! The end! Thank you to everyone that read and enjoyed the fic, and please keep an eye out for more stories! I have a few already planned, and one I think I might co-write with a friend, but that's probably a ways off.  
> Either way, thank you all again, so so much!


End file.
